Jack shuddered. He pretended to himself that it was from the cold night breeze, rather than the memory of what Raj had done to himself to keep his knowledge a secret.
Jack had searched in the most logical way he had known how to, of course. North of the original Spitfire’s Rise, to avoid any invading force from New London passing the new house along the way to the old. But not too far north, otherwise hours and hours would be added to every trip to New London. Out in the countryside to avoid the diseases of the cities. And most importantly, just the right balance between being an unlikely place for Grant to search but not being so unlikely that it would paradoxically become the most obvious place for them to hide.
Jack hoped he had got everything right. The Underdogs were dead if he had made a mistake. And as a seventeen-year-old who was accustomed to the world telling him he was wrong about most things, he had a lot to overcome in order to feel confident.
He turned to the front door and entered his new home, trying in vain to wipe the village’s name from his memory. With a memory like his, he wasn’t going to manage it. And with a village name like Tea Green – the most stereotypically English name a village could possibly have – it was already buried in his brain forever.
He walked back into the darkened house, and switched his torch back on. This house was going to be intimidating and claustrophobic without the lights their petrol generator could have powered.
‘I don’t like it,’ came Gracie’s voice from somewhere on the ground floor.
As was so often the case back in the old world, even Jack’s absolute best was not good enough.
‘Well, let’s see if the beds really are comfy,’ he answered, in a voice he made to sound confident. He fumbled his way up the stairs towards the closest bedroom. Ten seconds of this house being his home and he already needed a time-out. He started climbing through the dark; first one step at a time, and then two steps, and then jumps rather than steps. Just like how people found themselves needing the toilet more urgently the closer they got to it, Jack’s need for shelter became stronger with every step towards the bedroom.
One of his quivering hands brushed against a living person that his torchlight had not detected. Both Jack and the small figure jumped in fright.
‘Sorry…’ said Thomas in the darkness. ‘Where do you think McCormick would want these?’
Jack looked down at a collection of envelopes in Thomas’ hands. Jack loved Thomas as much as any decent person would, but at that moment he reached for the most dismissive answer possible.
‘Depends what’s in them,’ he said. ‘If it’s private, under his mattress.’
‘…Which one’s his?’
‘You get to choose.’
Jack didn’t hang around for a reply. He slipped into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and plunged himself into the pitch black. He found the bed, and collapsed onto it with such force that the dust on the duvet leapt into the air like a swarm of disturbed flies.
This isn’t home. It’s unfamiliar. It’s dark. It’s cold. It’s missing all the little things that made life in the abandoned countryside tolerable, like electronic games and chessboards and our own little farm. Even the right people aren’t here. Most of them are dead and we don’t even have a Memorial Wall for them here .
And on top of all that, this is one of the things in my life that I absolutely cannot afford to get even the slightest bit wrong…
I’m scared here. I always will be.
Before Jack knew it, he was in tears. He was not expecting actual tears – just the below-the-surface bubbling of emotions clawing their way towards his eyes – but the tears came regardless.
It was absolutely the wrong moment for the silhouette of Gracie to walk through the door, but she did anyway.
Two interruptions in less than a minute. Almost like the universe did not want him to rest.
‘I’m cold, Jack,’ she said.
‘Me too.’
There was a hint in her voice that she wanted something else, but Jack couldn’t translate it. After a momentary silence, she spoke again.
‘Could we… warm each other up?’
Oh bloody hell Gracie, don’t put me in this position…
‘You know? With… kissing?’
I took the hint, Gracie. Even I’m perceptive enough for that one.
In one of the most awkward and uncomfortable moments of Jack’s adolescence, Gracie sat down on the bed next to him. The touch of her hand felt like a miniature electric shock; one which he felt guilty for feeling.
He had spent much of the last year avoiding Gracie’s advances. But in Lemsford they had spent an afternoon alone, which had started with them making some kind of connection and had ended with them saving each other’s lives. Jack had since been wrestling with the idea of telling her the truth, and the hand against his side persuaded him the problem was not going away. It was better to get it over with, and that moment was the best opportunity to do so: not least because he had reached his full mental capacity for sadness anyway, so the ordeal wouldn’t make him feel any worse.
‘I’m not going to kiss you, Gracie.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t. And not after today either.’
‘I can teach you how it works if you like—’
‘No, Gracie. I’m sorry, I really am, but the answer’s no. I…’
He took a deep breath, then finished his sentence after coughing out the dust that invaded his lungs.
‘…I can’t be who you want me to be.’
At first, she gave no response. She probably hadn’t expected that answer. Maybe the thought of rejection hadn’t even crossed her mind, and in her own planned version of the conversation Jack was supposed to say yes. They were close friends after all, weren’t they?
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, not quite offended but certainly hurt.
‘I’ll never have a girlfriend, Gracie. Or a boyfriend. Or anyone. It’s my fault, not yours. There’s something up with my brain, and not just autism. It means I can’t find people attractive. Even pretty people… or people I really care about. And I do care about you. Honestly, I do. But if you can’t have me as just a friend then you can’t have me at all. I’m sorry… I don’t get to have a say in this. It’s my brain. My soul truly cares about you, but my brain doesn’t… well, you know. I’m sorry.’
Gracie gave no words in return. Her breathing got louder and more erratic, and the mattress rose underneath Jack, revealing that she had stood up. One creak of the door later, the room fell silent.
Well bloody played, Jack. The one person who will ever want to go out with a weird kid like you , and you broke her heart as punishment for asking.
Then again, thought the other side of his brain, not telling her would have hurt her more in the long run. Whichever way I chose it was going to be wrong, but at least I chose the lesser evil.
It was the type of thought train that could have occupied his brain for the entire night if he had not been interrupted. But a moment later, Simon completed the set of interrupters by bursting into the room.
Finally, after holding himself together so well through the evening, Jack ran out of patience.
‘Oh, bloody burning balls of crap,’ Jack snarled, far too loudly, ‘is there anyone else behind you in the bloody queue, Simon? A hedgehog with a poorly foot that only I can look after? Or a fox wanting career advice or something? Do I have to declare “base” before people respect that my day is over and I’m in bed now?!’